


(no such thing as) an uncompromised touch

by asweetepilogue



Series: Geraskier Octoberfest 2020 [14]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Asexuality, Fluff, Geralt just isn't sure what's up, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Internalized Acephobia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Negotiations, but only the littlest bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27301564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetepilogue/pseuds/asweetepilogue
Summary: Geralt knows that Jaskier wants to get him into bed. Geralt is all too willing to go - as long as it doesn't include sex.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Octoberfest 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957933
Comments: 14
Kudos: 258





	(no such thing as) an uncompromised touch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ace awareness week! I'm asexual so I of course have to write my faves as ace every once in a while. Also used flufftober prompt #25, cuddle.

Jaskier was getting drunker by the minute, and with each drink he occupied more and more of Geralt’s carefully managed physical space. Jaskier was, Geralt had quickly learned, an exceptionally touchy drunk. As an enthusiastic crowd passed him mugs of ale and cups of sweet wine, he would become more and more handsy. It would start with grabbing a hand here and there when they reached for him, shaking one and kissing another, all humor and flashy smiles. Then came lingering touches to shoulders or elbows, morphing into full embraces as he draped himself over someone’s chair or flung an arm around their back. As the evening wore on, he would begin to focus on one or two people that caught his fancy, and by the end of the night he would more often than not be in their beds.

Lately, these end-of-night affections had been directed more and more at Geralt, which was both flattering and unsettling. While he grudgingly welcomed the bard’s attentions, Geralt had little interest in becoming one in a long line of bedpartners. 

Tonight was another of those nights, Jaskier making his way closer and closer to Geralt’s corner of the tavern until he was practically sprawled out in his lap. It was fairly innocent, as far as these things went, just an arm slung around Geralt’s shoulder while Jaskier leaned close to giggle in his ear about the barkeep’s ridiculous braids. They were pressed together from shoulder to hip, their legs half tangled below the table, and Geralt was torn between basking in the comfort of the easy touch and his mounting anxiety about what it all meant. Looking down at the bard as he muffled a laugh at his own joke in Geralt’s shirt, he wondered why he couldn’t just, for once, be normal about something. Everyone else seemed to want Jaskier, and it seemed, based on observation, that Jaskier wanted _Geralt_. So why couldn’t Geralt want him back?

Witchers were, in general, creatures of few needs. Geralt could function on a third of the sleep that a human did, keep pushing himself for days on only a handful of rough jerky or scavenged berries. He didn’t need to be present at large gatherings or shove himself into a throng of people to stave off loneliness like so many humans seemed to. And he rarely felt the need or desire for sex. 

He wasn’t sure if that last bit was a him thing or a witcher thing. Sex was fine, he supposed; just another thing his body was capable of doing. Sometimes it was pleasant, sometimes it was less so. Generally he didn’t go out of his way to find it, and he never looked upon any man or woman with the thought of taking them to bed. He’d not paid it much mind before he’d met Jaskier, who made bedroom eyes at people across taverns and tumbled back into their shared room hours later reeking of sex. Geralt didn’t have the urge in the same way Jaskier did, or the way others seemed to have for Jaskier. Perhaps witchers were just built different in that regard - the attraction burned out of them along with their humanity. 

The issue was that, despite his ambivalence towards the sex itself, Geralt was fond of what came after. He’d pay extra, sometimes, for a whore to just hold him for a while, tracing his scars and running gentle hands through his hair. It was nice, to be close to another, even if he was buying the time. The itch under his skin that demanded touch surfaced only rarely, and was easily dismissed with a night of pre-paid lovemaking. It wasn’t what he wanted, really, but it was the only way anyone would lie down with a witcher. 

Jaskier didn’t truly change anything, not about that. Geralt wasn’t jealous of Jaskier’s bedmates because they got to experience his supposedly legendary skills in the bedroom. No, Geralt was jealous because Jaskier touched them, and they got to touch in return, and Geralt wanted it like he couldn’t remember wanting anything in his life. 

The issue was that Jaskier _did_ touch him, quite a lot. In the morning as they prepared their breakfast Jaskier’s fingers would skate over his when passing the cookware. When he spoke he would throw lighthearted jabs to Geralt’s shoulder or ribs to emphasize a joke, giving him a lopsided grin. When he was hurt or coming down from a hunt, Jaskier would comb lightly through his hair, removing tangles here and there as he traced over Geralt’s scalp. Twice, he had massaged oil into Geralt’s back and shoulders when he’d strained a muscle during a fight. On the Path by himself, Geralt turned his mind away from warm hands and kind eyes and was typically fine going without. With Jaskier traveling by his side, it was impossible to forget this small, yearning part of himself that ached for touch. The itch under his skin roared to life anytime Jaskier got too close, demanding that he sweep the bard up and touch every bit of him that he could reach. 

But Jaskier wasn’t one to take such gestures lightly, and such intimacy in Geralt’s experience was always purchased through sex. And he didn’t _want_ to sleep with Jaskier. He did, but - he didn’t. It would be nice, he knew, probably perfectly pleasant, and something warm always swept through him at the thought of pleasing the bard. But that wasn’t what Geralt wanted. He wanted to hold Jaskier close and wake with him each morning and feel those soft hands pressing tenderly into his skin. It was too much, he knew. Not at all what Jaskier seemed to be seeking, when he went to touch others like he was doing to Geralt now. He wanted sex, and Geralt wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse for his heart in the long run if he went along with it.

Carrying the bard upstairs was an ordeal, Jaskier seemingly uninterested in removing himself from Geralt’s side. He was half carried up to their room and dumped unceremoniously on the bed when they finally - finally - reached it. Geralt, being an exceptionally good friend, let Jaskier get his bearings while he pulled off his boots, setting them aside. Jaskier, for his part, stared blearily up at the ceiling as if he were trying to place it. Geralt stepped away to remove his own boots and shirt, leaving his loose pants on. Jaskier was still mostly clothed, only the doublet discarded earlier in the night detracting from his typical pomp. Geralt stood for a moment, just looking at him. His hair was flatter than normal after hours of sweating and running his hands through it downstairs, and it flopped into his eyes. His fingers picked idly at the blanket under him, distracted. He was, Geralt thought, exceptionally beautiful, backlit by the moonlight coming through the window, his features sharpened by darkness and wine. 

When Geralt didn’t return, Jaskier turned to look at him, his eyes overbright from drink. He pouted and reached out a hand in Geralt’s direction. “Come to bed,” he said, in what was probably meant to be a bit seductive but instead came out whiny. Geralt sighed and moved to his side, pulling back the thin blanket to crawl into the bed. Jaskier immediately turned to face him, arms thrown around Geralt’s waist and nose buried at his throat. The slight scent of happiness and arousal wafted around him, almost buried under the smell of alcohol. Geralt shifted, wanting to set his own arm around Jaskier’s back and hold him close, but not sure if it would be interpreted the wrong way. 

He had to say something. It wasn’t fair to either of them, to drag this out. “Jaskier,” he said, warily, exhausted. “I don’t - I can’t give you what you want, here.”

Jaskier hummed against his neck, a confused sound. “What do you mean, dear?” he asked. One finger skated along Geralt’s ribs, a lazy trail that made him shiver.

“You want - When you get like this, with others, you always want to sleep with them. I’m not - I don’t -”

Jaskier, with what seemed like monumental effort, pushed up onto one elbow so that he could glare down at Geralt. “I don’t _always_ sleep with them,” he said, defensively. The pout was back. “I just… like it. I like being close to people. To you, specifically.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to sleep with me,” Geralt said dubiously. The subtle scent of Jaskier’s arousal still filled the air around them, like a warm mulled wine. He couldn’t deny it.

“Well I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. In his intoxicated state the gesture seemed to extend to his entire upper torso. “I think you are… very attractive, and if _you_ ever wanted to I would definitely share your bed, but mostly I just like this. The touching… thing. Being next to you. I know you don’t look at people, not the way I do, and we don’t need to do any of that if it’s not what you like. But I like touching you, just like this.” He ran a broad palm across Geralt’s ribs, hesitantly. “If you like it too, I’d like to keep doing it.”

Geralt hummed, a soft affirmative sound, and Jaskier gave him a pleased smile in return. He settled back against Geralt’s side with a contented sigh, and Geralt allowed himself to settle a hand between Jaskier’s shoulder blades. “We’re discussing this in the morning,” he said. 

“Mm,” Jaskier agreed. “When ‘m not so drunk. Yeah.”

Geralt laughed, a low rumble that shook them both. “Yes. When you’re not so drunk.” Placing a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s hair, he said, “Goodnight, bard.”

They stayed wrapped up together throughout the night, and Geralt fell asleep thinking that maybe, just maybe, this really was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This is kind of an unusual fic for me, but it was enjoyable to write. I rarely take time to explore the sexualities of my characters because that's just not really what I'm invested in, but it's nice to unpack some of my own feelings about being ace and feeling romantic attraction and being in partnerships. I'm a big fan of ace!Geralt, might include more of that in my future works~
> 
> if you liked you can follow me on tumblr! I'm always taking prompts <3 [asweetprologue](asweetprologue.tumblr.com)


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